Enough
by Renee6061
Summary: Post-"Memoria." After his ordeal at the lab, Clark realizes he needs the reassuring sight of his father.


Rating: G

Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine, etc.

Author's note: Some of us thought that the only major flaw in "Memoria" was that Jonathan really should have been there. So I decided to take care of that problem, in my own small way, by sharing what I imagined happening after "Memoria" ended. Thanks to Smallvillian for her valuable editorial advice!

Enough

Clark stood fidgeting in the dim hospital hallway, feeling like a complete fool. This had seemed like such a good idea just half an hour ago. Or rather, it had seemed like the only possible thing to do.

His mother's words and her fervent hug had been a comfort that afternoon in the loft. Even though he could look down on the top of her head now (something he'd often teased her about when they'd both been in a lighter mood), his mom's hugs could still make him feel about six years old again—in a good way. Safe and sheltered.

Still, her reassurance hadn't taken away the emptiness inside him. It had been gnawing at him all week, but he'd managed to stay busy enough to ignore it most of the time. This evening, though, as they had finished the farm work and gone inside for the night, it had gnawed harder, until the pain was all he could think about.

Sitting up late to work on some assignments Chloe had brought over for him, he'd found his hand repeatedly straying toward the phone, then pulling back. Even when his father was feeling well, Clark knew, he almost always went to bed early.

When Clark had finally gone to bed himself, though, he hadn't been able to sleep. The idea had struck him then, as he'd lain staring at the ceiling. At first he'd dismissed it, but then he'd sat up in bed, thinking: Why not? He had the power; why shouldn't he use it? There was even a certain exhilaration in the thought, as there often was when he contemplated breezing past the boundaries that would have held anyone else back.

Now, as he stood by the lit window of his father's hospital room, the exhilaration was long gone. All he felt was enough butterflies in his stomach to carry him into orbit. What was he doing here? What if someone saw him and wondered why a seventeen-year-old kid had taken a supposed three-hour trip from Smallville to Metropolis at this hour? Even worse, what if his father thought it was a foolish thing to do?

It took him a few minutes just to get up the nerve to edge closer to the glass and peek through. He could see his father in bed, but he realized after the first quick look that Jonathan didn't see him. He appeared to have fallen asleep while reading, his finger still marking his place in the Grisham novel Clark had bought him for the stay in Metropolis.

Clark lingered at the window a moment, wondering if it was just a trick of the light or if his father really did look much older than he had just a couple of months ago. Fear stabbed him again as he recalled coming home from school last week just in time to see his mom helping his dad into the house.

Jonathan had tried to brush off the incident—he'd merely felt short of breath and sat down on the loft steps to rest for a few minutes. But Martha had marched him to the doctor the next morning for a checkup, which had led to Metropolis and this battery of tests. Now the doctors wanted to keep him an extra day or two.

Clark couldn't understand what was happening. He was certain Jor-El and his temporary loan were behind the whole thing. He had spent more sleepless nights than he could count berating himself over that. But then, why hadn't the surgery put the worst of this behind them, as Dr. Scanlan had promised? Why was Jonathan having such a hard time getting better?

Impulsively, Clark slipped over to the door and eased it open. It didn't make a sound. He started to breathe a little sigh of relief that got stuck in his throat as he looked up and found himself staring into his father's eyes.

The blank astonishment on Jonathan's face made him cringe. He knew that any shock could be dangerous to his father right now, so what had he done? Strolled into Jonathan's hospital room at 11:30 at night when he was supposed to be asleep nearly two hundred miles away. _Nice going, idiot._

"Clark?" Jonathan sat up straight, blinking in confusion. "Son! What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Dad." Clark closed the door hastily behind him and stood clinging to the knob as if it were his only friend. "Nothing's wrong. I just—" he faltered. "I'm sorry. I thought you were asleep." Oh, _that_ sounded brilliant. Now his father was looking at him as if wondering whether _he_ should be the one in the hospital, perhaps filling a bed in the mental ward.

Clark dropped his gaze to his shoes. "I just—wanted to see you. I missed you." His voice was getting higher, a habit he hated but could never control when his emotions got the better of him.

"Clark—"

"I—I guess it was a dumb thing to do. I know it's late. I guess I didn't really—"

"Clark," his father said again, gently.

Clark lifted his eyes to see him pushing back the blanket and sliding over to sit on the edge of the bed. Jonathan dog-eared his page, laid the book on the bedside table, and patted the bed. "Come here."

Clark took a deep breath, let it out, and slowly went over to sit next to his father. Jonathan put a hand on his shoulder and scanned his face anxiously. "Son, are you sure everything's all right?"

Clark bit his lip, the horror of the ordeal at the lab flooding his mind. No, everything wasn't all right. But he couldn't tell his father that story, not now. He knew what it would do to Jonathan. He made himself look straight into the worried blue eyes that watched him so intently. "Everything's fine, Dad. I—it's just—" He fidgeted again, then blurted out the first thing that came into his mind: "It's so quiet at home."

Jonathan looked a little surprised, and then the old grin crept over his face. "Are you saying I talk too much?"

Clark suddenly felt himself relax at the sight of that smile he hadn't seen in much too long. He grinned back. "You said it, I didn't."

His father chuckled, rubbing his shoulder. "So you ran all the way here in the middle of the night for a conversation with someone you thought was asleep."

"I know." Clark smiled sheepishly. "But I thought even if you were asleep, I could at least check on you."

Jonathan sighed, looking around the room. "Fat chance of sleeping here, anyway. They make you sit around this place all day filling out forms and going for tests, and then they expect you to get eight hours at night."

"Lots of people sit all day, you know."

"Better they than me." Jonathan glanced at the book on the table. "Well, at least I'm getting a chance to read a little. Normally it'd take me three or four months to get through a book that length."

Clark followed his gaze, about to ask whether the book was any good, and then raised his eyebrows. There was a cheerful arrangement of tulips on the table that he hadn't noticed before. "Hey, Dad, who's your secret admirer?"

Jonathan smiled again and handed him the card that lay beside the bouquet. Clark read it and laughed. "Leave it to Mom to come up with all the good ideas. I should have stopped by the gift shop and got you a teddy bear, like Lana almost did that time."

The mention of his wife had brought an anxious look to Jonathan's face again. "Clark, you didn't just take off without telling your mom, did you?"

"I left a note in case she woke up." Clark spoke absently, having spotted some paperwork on the table. It made him think of something he'd meant to ask earlier. "Dad, did you get any of your test results back yet?"

"Not yet. Probably in another couple of days." Jonathan's tone was light, but Clark knew him too well. Just for a second—it was there and gone so fast that most people would have missed it—he had glimpsed something in his father's face that turned him cold.

He didn't think Jonathan was lying about the tests—there'd be no point, since Clark was sure to hear about the results sooner or later anyway. But he realized yet again that his father knew something he wasn't saying.

He opened his mouth, then closed it, trying hard to swallow the rising fear and frustration. It was like that night they'd been together in the graveyard—the same longing to force the truth out of his father, even grab him by the shoulders and shake him if that's what it took; the same feeling that anything would be better than this endless wondering and worrying.

But tonight he couldn't press for answers. Tonight he understood Jonathan's thinking just a little better than he had before. Hadn't he just done the same thing his father was doing? And for the best possible reason?

But that didn't make any of this easier.

Resolutely, he opened his mouth again to ask about the book—it would do as well as anything else to change the subject—when the sound of footsteps in the hallway made them both start. Jonathan put his hand on Clark's, listening until the sound died away, then looked at him and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Clark, it's probably not a good idea for you to be found here."

Clark nodded slowly. "Yeah. I guess I'd better get going." He started to get up.

"Hey—" Jonathan stopped him with a touch on his arm, then pulled him into a hug. He held Clark tightly for a long moment before speaking again. "I'm glad you came, son."

"Me, too." Clark rested his head on his father's shoulder, strangely contented. Nothing had changed, really. They were both still carrying painful secrets, still hiding things to protect each other. And he was pretty sure they both knew that. But even without knowing what was wrong, they had known how to help each other. The empty ache was gone, as he'd known it would be. For now, it was enough.

The End


End file.
